


Unbreakable

by Serenity_V



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Eventual Canon Divergence, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Memories, Non-Graphic Violence, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenity_V/pseuds/Serenity_V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ll break them. Only the breakable ones.” What did that make Natalia and James? Their hearts had been ripped to shreds, their minds dismembered and reconfigured at a whim, but still they stood and fought on. Maybe they were just too broken to break any more. Years later, they find each other again. Maybe, they can help each other mend. Maybe, together, they can build something unbreakable.<br/>Begins with Comics-based past. Set in the MCU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Change in Pace

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Russian is italicized, inside greater than/less than symbols.  
> 2\. The "training exercise" I refer to in this chapter (and the year in which it is set) actually comes from the comics - Captain America #624, if I remember correctly.

_Russia, 1958._

The Black Widow was one of the Motherland’s most effective weapons. But, she wasn’t perfect – yet. Though she'd managed to achieve the objective, her last mission had gotten hairy, through no fault of her own, and she'd only barely managed to fight her way out.

She hadn’t exactly gotten away unscathed, either, to put it mildly.

So, after she’d recovered, she’d been called back for additional training. She was too valuable to lose because she couldn’t adequately defend herself.

It was evening, and she was headed to a sparring room, where she was to begin training with the Winter Soldier. She’d met him earlier that day in a training exercise. She’d been impressed with his performance, and his approach had reminded her of her own attitude. He’d seemed to appreciate her tactics, as well.

_Bring me better men…Or women like this one._

And, she’d decided, she liked his smile. That wasn’t what she thought of now, however. Now, she remembered what she’d observed of his methods, his patterns of attack. Most of the men she’d seen fight him had focused on his metal arm as the major threat. As he’d said, they were idiots. What made him so dangerous in a fight was that he _didn’t_ rely on that arm. He didn’t need to.

As she entered the room, she found the Winter Soldier already waiting with one of their handlers – the short, bearded man who’d complained about their methods earlier that day. The Black Widow kept her face impassive, but inwardly sighed. She’d actually been looking forward to this, but the oversight would be annoying.

 _< Widow,> _the handler greeted. _< The Winter Soldier will be giving you additional training in unarmed combat.>_ She didn’t miss the slight emphasis he placed on the word, “unarmed,” no doubt in response to her maneuver earlier that day. _Pedant._

 _< You’ll start with a sparring match to see how much work you’ve got ahead of you,> _he continued, apparently oblivious to the grating effect he had on the nerves of perhaps the deadliest woman in the world. _ <Your initial objective is to last a minute. We’ll see what happens and go from there. Begin.>_

 _A minute?_ the Black Widow thought. The Soldier had taken down most of his opponents that day in less than half that.

She was insulted. One blown mission, and suddenly they thought she was a child who didn’t know how to fight. _Honestly, ‘last a minute.’_

It took the Winter Soldier five to best her.

<Good,> the short man said in obvious surprise, documenting it and hashing out a schedule with the operatives – the Black Widow was relieved to know he would only drop by intermittently to see her progress – before leaving them.

 _< That was-> _the Winter Soldier began, but she interrupted him.

“Speak English. I need the practice.”

 _Not that badly,_ he thought, admiring her accent, but obliged her.

“You did very well.” He actually sounded impressed, and a little surprised.

“What did you think I was doing before I stepped in earlier?” she asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than was warranted. “Standing on the sidelines looking pretty?”

 _Of course, she was watching me,_ he realized. She’d put her observation to good use; he could already feel a few bruises forming to prove it.

“I guess I figured you were off stealing that grenade from the armory,” he offered with a wry half-smile.

“You think they keep harmless smoke-grenades in the armory?” she returned shortly. “No, I smuggled that on-base myself weeks ago. Now, are we going to train or what? Tell me, what did I do wrong?”

He blinked at her impatience, and the neutrality of her expression. She’d caught his attention earlier that day by being so full of life…

“You’re upset,” he realized. She raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused.

“Excuse me, Comrade?” Whatever he’d thought he’d seen was gone, but somehow, he just _knew_ he was right.

“You’re upset about something. Is it because you lost the fight?”

She studied him for a moment before shrugging, “I don’t like to fail.”

He blinked again in surprise, “You didn’t.”

“Not by their standards, maybe,” she responded. “But, I lost. Feels like failure to me.”

“Well, then,” he said, settling into a defensive position, “We’ll just have to keep at it until you can win.”

Her eyes locked onto his, as though searching for something, as though he hadn’t said what she’d expected and she wanted to know why. A note of suspicion coloring her voice, she asked, “Why would you want that?”

“Besides the fact that I was ordered to help you?” he joked mildly.

She gave him a flat look.

 _Because I like you,_ he thought, but while he wasn’t very familiar with spies, he could tell she wouldn’t respond well to such an answer. She seemed to like him well enough, but somehow he felt that she wasn’t a very trusting person.

So, he told her, “Because it’s been too long since I’ve had a challenge.” It was, after all, the truth, and apparently, a sentiment she understood because she nodded once before squaring herself to face him.


	2. What We Were Made For

~~~~The Black Widow stumbled back a pace, propelled by the force of the blow the Winter Soldier had landed. He grinned even as he blocked her counterstrike, saying _< You couldn’t dodge that? I’m disappointed, Little Spider.>_

_< I didn’t need to dodge,> _she fired back, _< My grandmother could hit harder. >_

_< Which grandmother? The Tsarina or Baba Yaga?>_

_< Very funny,> _she snarled, landing a blow of her own just hard enough to remind him whom he was fighting. Their banter was fun; winning was better, and to do that required focus.

The Black Widow had been training with the Winter Soldier for about a month. That first time they’d sparred, she’d been primarily on the defensive, exploiting the rare opportunities to counter-attack as they arose. She’d improved to the point that she actually took the offensive sometimes, forcing him to play defense and wait for openings, but she had yet to best him.

Now, about half an hour into their current match, most combatants would be tiring, but the Winter Soldier was exhilarated. He loved this back-and-forth with such a well-matched opponent, this _dance_ of theirs-

A flash of blond hair and blue eyes shot through the back of his mind, an image that had begun to haunt the Soldier’s fragmented dreams.

“I don’t get it, Steve,” his own voice sounded very far away, “What exactly are you waiting for?”

“The right partner,” the scrawny boy replied, and then he was gone, the Soldier back in the present, the strange experience – some sort of flashback? – taking only a moment.

A moment of distraction was all the Black Widow needed. She pressed her advantage against the Winter Soldier, and for the first time, she won.

As she swiftly brought him down – the first opponent he could remember being able to accomplish it, distraction or no – moving with as much grace as violence, he couldn’t help the errant thought, _the right partner._

As he took her proffered hand, allowing her to help him up, he grinned, < _Congratulations. You just took down the Winter Soldier. Don’t expect it to happen again. >_

She returned his smile as they separated, but watched him carefully with guarded eyes, seeming almost concerned. Neither said anything as they followed their usual routine; it was their custom to stretch between matches to keep their muscles warm and supple while she analyzed the fight and anything she’d learned from it, after which he added any insight his greater experience afforded him.

She stretched in a way not quite like any he’d ever seen before, and he’d asked her about it once.

_< Ballet,> _had been her only answer, and though he’d given no indication, she’d known he’d been surprised. And, no matter how much he’d wanted to, he’d asked no questions.

Now, as the silence stretched on between them, and he waited for her to speak, he was surprised by what she finally said.

_< What distracted you?>_

Of course, she’d noticed his distraction, that was a given for her, but he hadn’t been sure she would question it, and he certainly hadn’t expected her to lead with it.

The question was, how would he answer her?

_< What makes you say I was distracted?>_

She didn’t deign to answer that beyond one of her _looks,_ and he conceded the point with a small, rueful smile and a cock of the head.

_< Right, yeah…Does it matter?>_

The Black Widow hesitated. Questions generally weren’t encouraged in the Red Room, but this was the Winter Soldier she was talking to. He wasn’t one of their handlers. He was…

He was an unknown quantity, which made him more dangerous than just about anything else. But, not as dangerous as he was rendered by the fact that she didn’t think of him as such. No, the most dangerous thing about the Winter Soldier was that he made the Black Widow feel safe.

Carefully, she shrugged with perfect nonchalance, _< It takes a lot to catch you off guard.>_

_< Yeah, well…What did isn’t important. What’s important is you’re good enough now to take advantage of it. Most opponents wouldn’t have been able to take me down, even with that opening. But, then, you’ve never been “most opponents.”>_

It wasn’t exactly a subtle change in topic, but then, what did she expect? He was a soldier, not a spy. So, the ball was in her court now. Would she push or play it safe?

She watched him carefully, seeing the guarded look in his eyes. She knew what that was like, the constant need to hide. _You can trust me,_ she felt the sudden urge to say, but she held her tongue. Of course, he couldn’t trust her, _nor,_ she had to remind herself, could she trust him.

Trusting people, in a life like theirs, was what got you killed – or worse.

So, inclining her head in acknowledgement of the compliment, she said, _< I only wondered what it was in the interest of preventing it in the future. If we’re ever sent into the field together, I don’t want you compromised when I need you.> _But, she thought of that guarded look she’d seen in his eyes, that fear, so familiar, of having no one to trust or rely on, and she took a chance: She looked him in the eye and didn’t bother to make her words convincing, as they both knew she could.

His gaze turned intent, and he nodded in acknowledgement of what she’d said – and, more importantly, what she hadn’t.

_< Don’t worry about it. It won’t happen a second time, I promise,> _he said, and she believed him. _< So, let’s see if you can take me down without it.>_

The Black Widow stepped forward, returning his sharp smile and meeting the challenge in his eyes with a glint in her own.

_< Let’s.>_

* * *

After three months of training with the Winter Soldier, the Black Widow could best him _almost_ as often as he could her. It was good enough for their superiors, and she found herself facing one final examination before being released back into the field.

Alone and weaponless, the Black Widow faced an entire garrison in a crowded street in broad daylight. Usually, her initial tactic would be evasion, but her mission that day was not to get something past them; it was to eliminate them.

For every opponent she took out, she maneuvered two more into disposing of each other. Standing alone at the end of the street, fallen bodies scattered behind her, the Black Widow turned to face the mouth of a dark alley and, with a deliberate smirk, said in clear, perfectly accented American English, “Idiots.”

“Some of them are, agreed, but not all of us,” the Winter Soldier continued the play on their first meeting, stepping from the shadows with a smirk of his own. As he drew nearer, she levelled the gun she’d taken from one of her assailants at him. He stopped his advance, but only seemed to grow more amused.

“You really think I can’t disarm you?”

“Before I get off a shot?” Preempting any response he may have given, she squeezed the trigger.

Of course, the Soldier dodged the stun gun’s discharge, but the Widow hadn’t expected to hit him and had already dropped the useless weapon by the time he reached her. As they engaged, he murmured, _< You know Polzin will be pissed,> _sounding entirely too pleased about it.

As if on cue, a strident voice snapped, _< Enough,> _and the two parted as their handler continued, _< Look what you did to these men, Widow! This is a bigger mess than the Soldier made!>_

_< If you wanted me to be gentle,> _she said, unconcerned, _< Then you shouldn’t have let him train me. But, it was my understanding that the only thing that gets you killed more quickly than being gentle is needing your opponent to be.>_

Glaring at her, the bearded man snarled, _< You’re back in the field. Go be Volkov’s problem now. Report to him with the Soldier for debriefing.>_

_< Sir,> _she acknowledged with careful neutrality before turning to walk away.

_< And, good riddance,> _she heard muttered behind her, making up in vehemence what it lacked in volume.

Striding toward her first mission in far too long with the Winter Soldier a solid and familiar presence at her side, the Black Widow’s lips curved upward into a dark smirk the sight of which had caused grown men to tremble in fear. The Winter Soldier answered her expression with an upward quirk of his own lips.

_< I think he means “Happy Hunting.”>_

* * *

The Black Widow’s first mission after being cleared once more for active field duty was downright insulting. She’d been sent to gather intelligence, nothing more, and while she could appreciate a straightforward mission, she could have completed this one alone with her eyes closed on a bad day.

Instead, she had the Winter Soldier perched on a neighboring rooftop providing unnecessary cover that did nothing but grate on her nerves, “in case her skills in espionage had dulled through disuse while she’d focused on combat training.” They hadn’t. When she rejoined him, he began dismantling his rifle. They’d call it in when he was finished.

They didn’t get the chance; a controlled voice sounded in their comm links, restraining but not masking the frantic edge to it.

_< Mission Status.>_

Aware of his companion’s less than charitable feelings towards command at the moment, the Winter Soldier answered before she could say anything untoward.

_< Boring, but complete. Black Widow was in and out. I was superfluous.> _Technically, he’d stated only the facts. Only the slightest edge to his voice suggested that he shared his partner’s feelings on this mission. Judging by her slight relaxation and the even slighter upward twitch of her lips, the Black Widow picked up on it.

_< Sh!%. Well, it’s time to get back in. There’s a situation.>_

_< Sir?>_

The other voice sighed, in that way that meant he knew the operatives wouldn’t take his news well, before explaining with audible reluctance, _< There was…another redundancy. We sent him in to get the intel, just in case.>_

The Black Widow finally added her own voice to the conversation, _< Blue tie, blond hair, tacky cufflinks. Yeah, I saw him. In fact, he made himself pretty hard to miss.>_

Well, that explained just how irritable she’d been when she’d rejoined him, thought the Soldier.

Their handler at least had the grace to sound uncomfortable as he said, _< Yes, well, apparently you weren’t the only one who thought so.>_

The Widow turned her attention to muttering imprecations under her breath, leaving the Winter Soldier to inquire, _< So, what are we talking about here? Extraction or damage control?>_

_< That depends on how quickly you find him. They’re taking him to some sort of base. Last known location…>_

He gave them the necessary details, voice fading away to leave the two assassins glancing at each other in the sudden silence on the rooftop.

_< Looks like we might have some fun tonight after all,> _the Black Widow said with a sharp smile.

_< I wouldn’t count on it,> _the Winter Soldier fired back, _< Doesn’t sound like it’d take much to handle that idiot they sent in. Seriously, where do they find these guys?>_

_< Well, a girl can hope, right?> _And, then, they were off.

When asked about how the two had worked together, the operative they’d extracted would later report, _< They speak of the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier. They say they are not people but weapons. I always thought these were only stories. And, then, I saw them. No humans could do that.>_

The operatives had been trained to work alone, to never rely on anyone. They fought together seamlessly.

The only thing more fun than fighting the Black Widow, the Winter Soldier decided, was fighting _with_ her. The feeling was mutual.

* * *

 

Time passed, and the world spun on. The Black Widow was given missions that actually merited her skills, and she completed them alone. The same was true of the Winter Soldier.

Every so often, however…Well, to put it simply, crap happened. And, when a seemingly impossible to handle situation arose, the Widow and the Soldier were sent in to handle it. They hadn’t failed yet.

In the course of dealing with their latest disast- ahem, _mission,_ however, the Soldier had taken a bullet. The two stumbled into a safe house, and the Widow examined the wound. It had been a clean shot, passing through his right shoulder without hitting anything important and leaving clear points of entry and exit. As she began cleaning it, he said, _< I can do that myself.>_

At the tense note in his voice, she stilled but did not draw back. Instead, she searched his eyes, carefully guarded in a way they hadn’t been around her in a long time.

_I don’t like doctors,_ he’d told her once, and she wondered if whatever reason he had for it was what bothered him now.

Eventually, eyes still locked on his, she said, _< I know you can. But, you don’t have to.>_

He looked at her intently for a while before giving a stiff nod. She paused a moment, realizing what he was giving her in the gesture. _Trust._

She worked quickly and carefully, keeping her touch as gentle as possible. As she patched him up, she felt him watching her closely, but not warily. In fact, she felt him slowly but surely relax under her hands. When she finished, looking up at him once more, his gaze took her breath away.

After a pregnant pause, he softly said, _< Thank you…Natalya.>_

He was pushing boundaries, to use her given name like that. Boundaries she chose not to enforce, simply meeting his eyes and dropping the walls in her own to let him know it was okay. Another moment passed. She knew what he wanted but wondered whether he would be brave enough to take it. Whether he would trust her enough.

Maybe he was reckless or naïve, or maybe he knew she wanted it as much as he did. In any case, he gently pressed his lips to hers. This was far from the Black Widow’s first kiss, but it may as well have been for the effect it had on her.

_< You’re welcome, my dear,> _she finally said when she’d regained her breath.

_< Pet names, Little Spider?>_

_< I don’t know your name, and I’m sure as he%% not calling you ‘Winter Soldier’ in bed, so yes, I’m going to make up pet names – unless you’d like to choose a name for me to call you?>_

His first impulse was to quip, _What makes you think I’ll be taking you to my bed?_ But, she’d see it as a deflection, and maybe it would be one.

She’d asked his name once, and he’d told her he didn’t have one. At the time, he’d believed it to be the truth. He still wasn’t sure it wasn’t. But, as time went on, his tangled dreams were becoming more frequent and vivid and spilling more often into waking hours, and some things were recurring.

_A lab. Restraints. A mantra._

_Sergeant James Barnes, 32557…_

He looked at Natalya carefully. She met his gaze, looking surprisingly _open_ and gentle – but not innocent; she’d never projected innocence for him. She’d been deadly even before he’d trained her, and afterwards, he knew exactly what she was capable of. He knew she was probably the best spy in the world. None of that was what made her dangerous, though, not to him. What made the Black Widow dangerous was that the Winter Soldier trusted her.

And, he knew exactly how stupid that was.

He could brush her off, trust her only to a point, have that night and mean nothing by it. But, he decided, if he couldn’t trust her, he didn’t want her at all. So, the question remained: Could he trust her?

After a moment, he took a deep, steadying breath, pushed aside his fear, and placed the bet of a lifetime.

“James,” he said, giving her all he had to give, “I think my name was James.”

“Was?” she followed his lead, switching to English.

“Still working on it,” he kept his voice light, “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime. Don’t we have something more important to worry about?” It had been far too long since he’d smiled like that; too bad it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

_“James,”_ she whispered, looking at him intently, and something inside him melted at the tenderness in her voice.

That should have set off warning bells; since when was the Black Widow _tender?_ But, this _wasn’t_ the Black Widow, he realized; this was Natalya.

“Thank you,” she said softly. She didn’t need to say for what.

And, she didn’t need to project her sincerity for him to see it.

He kissed her again, all hesitance forgotten, and when they broke, she said, “Right, yeah, more important things,” reaching for his hand with a smile.

It was his left hand, though, and he drew it back, muttering “Not that one.”

She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.

“It’s not…It’s a _weapon,_ Natalya. It was made for killing, not for…this.”

Holding his gaze, she whispered, _“So were we,”_ and reached slowly, deliberately this time, for his metal hand. He didn’t move away, and she took his hand in her own, bringing it gently to her lips.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, they could have more than what they’d been made for.


	3. Breaking (Free?)

Her name was Natalya Shostakova. She was a widowed ballerina. She was young and beautiful and very, very Russian.

And killing came too easily.

Her late husband's name was- his name was...

Yasha?

No. No, it was Alexei. How could she forget her Alexei? Her beautiful pilot, who had died for the cause.

He was everything to her, so after his death, when the Widow-makers came to call, she'd gladly accepted the opportunity to carry on his legacy in the Motherland's service.

She wondered, sometimes, why everything came so easily to her, the tools of her new trade feeling more familiar than foreign, but her handlers always brushed it off, telling her that, to her already well-trained muscles, it felt similar to the ballet she'd danced for years.

She could think of no other explanation, so she never questioned them...until she met the Winter Soldier.

Years had passed, and she had served her country well - better, in fact; she was the best. When she reported to receive her orders that day, a hushed argument was leaking out the slightly ajar door outside of which she waited, pretending not to listen. Most agents _wouldn't_ listen, but, well - she was the Black Widow; information was her business, after all.

_< -a terrible idea! You know what happened last time!>_

_< What other choice do we have? Without this mission, we've lost. Do you know of anyone else who can pull it off?>_

A pause was answer enough before the eventual response, < _I_ _don't like it. >_

_< It will be fine. We were remiss last time, but we know better now. They will complete this one mission, and then it will be 'out of sight, out of mind' again.>_

_< Fine. But, on your head be it if you're wrong.>_

And then, she'd been introduced to her partner for the mission of a lifetime. They were both cold and professional, but that didn't stop her from feeling the ghost of warm familiarity. They worked together seamlessly in a way that sang of _right,_ but every time she met those dead brown eyes with her own, something buried deep within her screamed _wrong._

As that piece of her steadily clawed its way to the surface, she caught glimpses of another life - all of which came in the form of that face, those same eyes sparkling with life.

 _I've got an idea, he said._  
_What do you need?  
_ _A grenade, and there was that grin, wild and deadly and..._

_Stay warm, Natalya..._

_Love is for children, she said.  
_ _You're the one always calling me a child..._

 _Don't scare me like that again, she snapped, glaring down at him with weapons in her hands, blood on her skin, smoke wrapped around her like a shroud.  
_ _Yes, Ma'am, he said, smirking through the pain..._

Sometimes, there were no words, only a flurry of blows, beside him or at his back or, sometimes, even opposing.

Never enough to make any sense.

They returned from their mission, covered in blood and bruises and triumph, after a little over a week. She'd lived her entire life without him, so she didn't understand why she felt the loss so keenly upon their immediate separation.

 _I do!_ cried the hidden part inside her, _I know why!_

And Natalya remembered. Not her other life, or the Soldier she'd lived it for, but she remembered that there _was_ another life. That _nothing_ was worth losing it. That _no one_ had the right to take it away.

So, she ran - ran far away from the people who had taken it, taken _her,_ taken _him._ She ran before they could realize it was coming back and steal it all away again.

And, slowly, it came back. All of it. The blood and pain and fear and loss of _then_ joined that of _now,_ the bitter reality of her past somehow sweeter than the hollow, honeyed lies, and Natalya Romanova knew herself once more.

And, then, the Soviet Union fell. And the Black Widow hunted in its ruins, burning the Blood Red Room to the ground and scattering its ashes in the wind, searching, always, for the one she'd lost.

_James._

Years passed, the Black Widow selling her skills to the highest bidder - after what they'd done to her, to _him,_ she no longer believed in fighting for a cause; no cause was worth it; there was no goodness in humanity - always, endlessly, seeking the man who'd made her as close to whole as she'd ever been.

And, then, a hawk was sent to kill her. But, he didn't.

She didn't trust this S.H.I.E.L.D. It was an organization of liars and killers, who had no qualms about using any means necessary to bring about their vision of "the greater good." Ideology didn't matter; they were the same as those she'd left, and they'd use and abuse her just the same.

But, their agent had something she'd never had - the freedom to make his "different call," the one that saved her, in more ways than one. She didn't care, at first, what these people professed to stand for. She only cared about surviving to find her Soldier and being in a position to save him when she did. So, she took the chance of her too-long lifetime.

And got so much more than she'd bargained for.


	4. Echoes

_Eastern European S.H.I.E.L.D. Base, 2003._

Budapest was officially the worst city on the face of the planet. Natasha wished her orders had allowed her to burn it to the ground. As if her first stint there hadn't been bad enough, she'd been sent again for a different cause, with a different partner, the memories taking as high a toll on her as the situation stirring them up.

As she woke, alone, she congratulated herself on feeling nothing more than a surge of irritation – no crippling panic, any instinctive fear she felt was inconsequential enough for her to deny its existence – to find herself surrounded by white walls and hospital beds. The S.H.I.E.L.D. medics had insisted she stay in the medical ward for observation, even though she'd mostly healed from injuries that were more annoying than hazardous – by her standards, anyway.

She wasn't alone for long before the definition of "nondescript" walked through the door and approached her.

"How are you feeling?" the handler asked mildly.

"I'm fine, sir," she said, calmly, mask firmly in place. She'd been tried and tested in far worse circumstances; this was _nothing._ "I don't understand what all the fuss is about," she continued, "I'm mission-ready." And she was. It wouldn't be pleasant, working in her condition, but it wouldn't be out of the ordinary, either. This was the first time she'd landed herself in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical, and she needed to send a clear message to the handlers; first impressions were important, after all.

"Really? That's not what your doctors tell me."

"It's what _I'm_ telling you," she answered steadily.

Coulson indulged himself in allowing a small sigh to escape before taking his leave of his agent - and she _was_ _his_ agent; she just didn't know what that meant yet. As the handler made his way down the busy corridors, he sent a text message.

 _Clint,_ it read, _get to medical and check on Romanoff. She still won't open up to me._

He didn't have long to stew before his phone alerted him to an incoming message.

_Already on it, Phil. And cheer up - try thinking about all the ways you could kill her old KGB handlers if she hadn't gotten to them first._

Coulson's response was succinct as ever.

_:)_

When Clint strolled into the medical ward, he had a spring in his step, a jaunty smile on his face, and something hidden behind his back. Natasha had known him long enough to realize it spelled trouble.

"Come to gloat, Barton? I can't believe I'm stuck in here and you're not."

"Yeah, well, unlike crazy Russian assassins, _I_ actually have a sense of self-preservation. You should look into getting one of those."

"Oh, here stands the guy who regularly jumps off of buildings, and suddenly _I'm_ the reckless one?"

"Which one of us is stuck in medical?"

"For once."

"Whatever, Romanoff," the archer replied flashing her his signature far-too-cheerful grin before sobering and asking, "Seriously, though, how are you doing?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that," she grumbled, but he thought she allowed a hint of confusion to color her tone as she continued, "I honestly don't know what the big deal is. I'm functional. There's no point in being stuck in medical, it's not like it'll make me finish healing any faster."

 _No, but it will let us take care of you,_ her partner thought. _Functional isn't good enough here. I know you're disillusioned about intelligence organizations,_ he wanted to say, _but S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't the Red Room._

He knew, however, that no matter how many times anyone said it, she wouldn't be convinced. She needed to see it for herself. So he only shrugged and said, "Well, I can tell you from personal experience that S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors are just a bunch of mother hens with PhD's in stubbornness. So, since you'll have nothing else to do over the next couple of days, you'll probably be doing a lot of reading, and I figured it was high time I helped you assimilate."

Ignoring her raised eyebrow, he swept his arm out from behind his back with a flourish, brandishing a book at her with a grin that said he was far too proud of himself.

She took it hesitantly because, if Barton thought something was a good idea, chances were it wouldn't end well. Case-in-point: He'd thought bargaining with the Black Widow a better idea than eliminating her, and never hesitated to _tease_ her, even when she was in a bad mood from being stuck in medical.

Glancing down at the cover of the book in her hands and back up at her partner's face, she asked, "You got me a book about Captain America?"

"Hey, you want to talk about reckless, that guy pulled some _crazy_ stunts during the war!"

"I'll be sure not to give you any ideas," she said drily.

"Oh, don't worry; I've already read that one."

"Oh joy."

Her curiosity got the better of her the next day, and she flipped through the book, not really reading, just sort of...browsing. About halfway through, a picture caught her eye - and stole her breath. It was captioned with a name: James Buchanan Barnes.

_James._

As the Black Widow returned to the beginning of the book and actually _read,_ struggling desperately to control her ragged breathing, all she could think was that this was a bad joke - it had to be.

As time passed, Barton would tease her about her frankly impressive "Captain America Library," as he called it, but he never understood why it was so extensive. After all, how could he ever have guessed that a Russian woman born in 1984 was researching an American soldier who had died in WWII for personal reasons?


	5. Foundations

_Prague, 2006._

Natasha Romanoff collapsed against the wall of an alley, taking deep, deliberate breaths of the cold night air as she looked up at the star speckled sky. Exhausted, frustrated, and hollow, with old wounds gaping wide, one thought alone reverberated within her.

_I was so close!_

Prague had been a mess - the sort of mess one sent in an operative of her calibre to handle. And while she'd been there, she'd crossed paths with another.

The Winter Soldier, of course, hadn't recognized her. She'd done all she could to get through to him, and she swore she'd seen some cracks beginning to form, but she hadn't had enough _time!_ She hadn't tried to force him because, even _if_ she could, she could only really save him if her trusted her. So, in the post-intersecting mission chaos, she'd had to let him go.

Fatigued, empty, and alone, she couldn't help but feel she'd lost him all over again.

"Status, Widow," a slightly tinny voice sounded through the commlink in her ear, halfway between a statement and a question.

_Well,_ she thought, a hint of a smile gracing her lips at the almost imperceptible tightness in the concerned man's voice, _Maybe not quite alone._

"Mission complete." _Focus on that,_ she told herself. _You did what you came here to do. And, now, you_ know _it's possible to get through to him; you_ saw _it working. He'll be that much closer to the surface the next time you see him. You'll get him back someday._

_"Your_ status, Romanoff," the voice in her ear returned, this time with a hint of fond exasperation, and Natasha's burgeoning smile widened.

"It's been a he%% of a day, Phil," she admitted with a sigh, "but I'm okay." It was nice, she reflected, to have a handler who _cared,_ someone to trust and rely on. It had taken her a while to learn how that worked, but she'd had years at S.H.I.E.L.D. to figure it out, and Coulson had been patient. She'd gone on numerous solo missions, like the one she'd just finished, as well as operations for which she'd been partnered with Clint, and she'd slowly - despite the cynicism she'd learned through loss and pain - let herself _believe_ again, believe in S.H.I.E.L.D. and its agents and its mission. She was almost _happy,_ in fact.

There was only one thing missing.

* * *

The Winter Soldier was preoccupied as he returned to base, struggling to make sense of the fiery woman, both foreign and familiar, who'd called him by the name in his broken-kaleidoscope dreams.

_How do you know that name?_

_I'll tell you sometime._

_What makes you think there will be a 'sometime?'_

_We're in the same business, and we're the best at what we do. You really think we won't cross paths again?_

_Maybe,_ he thought, _just maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing._


	6. Building

_Odessa, 2009._

Natasha instinctively checked her engineer's pulse on principle rather than out of any real hope he might be alive before finding cover. That, too, was done almost purely out of instinct and principle - If the shooter had wanted her dead, he'd had plenty of opportunity to accomplish it. In fact, he could have just killed her and _then_ his target; instead, he'd gone to the effort of shooting _through_ her - _nonfatally_ \- to accomplish his mission.

As she waited, she quickly wrapped a makeshift bandage around her midsection in a haphazard attempt to at least slow the bleeding, before arming herself and hoping he caught up to her soon; they needed to wrap this up quickly if she didn't want to bleed out and waste all his effort to finish his mission without killing her.

The Black Widow knew only two men who could make a shot like that, and she knew exactly which one had done it; she'd led him on a merry chase through the city while protecting her target, and she couldn't deny that she'd enjoyed it more than was probably appropriate.

She leaned against the rocks, projecting an air of relaxation as she heard a familiar set of slow, deliberate footsteps approaching her position.

Catching sight of the Black Widow, gun in one hand, grenade in the other, smirking insouciantly at the man who'd just shot her, the Winter Soldier stopped a few paces away, lips quirking upward faintly, hesitantly, as though he wasn't sure whether it was appropriate.

_< Well, this looks familiar,>_ he said slowly, the slightest hint of uncertainty bleeding into his tone.

_< As I recall,>_ she smirked, < _I wasn't bleeding last time. >_

_< Ah, well, the details are a little fuzzy,>_ he tried to brush it off with a madcap grin, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes in a way that told her things were more than a _little_ fuzzy for him. But, this was the closest to himself she'd seen him since they'd been separated, so she wasn't complaining. Much.

_< Anyway,>_ he continued, striving for a casual tone he _almost_ achieved,  < _It's Natalya, right? >_

_< Natalya Romanova. It's been a long time, James. I'd say it's been too long, but, well, you did just shoot me, so I could've gone a little longer.> _ _No,_ she confessed only to herself, _I really couldn't have._

_< Hey, you're the one who made it literally impossible for me to get to him without shooting you. Honestly, I'm impressed. I don't know anyone else who could have made it outside the city.>_

_< I'm impressed, too, I have to admit. It was a he%% of a shot,] _she returned lightly, < _and I'm sure I'll have the scar to prove it. But, what now? Suddenly, we're not fighting anymore? >_

The Soldier shrugged, < _My mission's over. You weren't a part of it, just got in the way. >_

_< And you decided to just walk over for a chat and hope I wouldn't hold a grudge?>_

He looked confused for a moment, as if he honestly hadn't considered the potential consequences of his actions, before shrugging once more, apparently unconcerned by his relative vulnerability.

_< I've learned to trust my instincts,> _he said.

The Black Widow snorted but lowered her gun and disarmed the grenade.

_< So, what are you doing here? What do you want out of this?> _She didn't expect an answer.

Judging by the sudden silence, it didn't seem she'd be getting one.

_< Just this,> _he finally surprised her, < _This conversation proves I'm not going crazy. You're real, and you were real back then, too. >_

Floored by his honesty, Natasha could only blink at his trust as she tried to remember how to breathe. At least subconsciously, she realized, some part of him still knew and trusted her.

_< I'll see you again, Widow,> _the Soldier said, turning to walk away.

"James!" she called, unwilling to lose him just yet. She was mildly surprised when he actually stopped, turning back to look at her. Then, her mind caught up to her heart; what was she supposed to say?

_< Stay warm,> _she said, echoing all those frozen nights in Siberia or less literal wastelands, when the only warmth to be had was in fire and fighting and each other.

She could tell he didn't know, didn't remember, but some part of him must have understood because his voice was soft when he replied, < _You too, Natalya. >_

And, then, he was gone. Victory tasted like ashes in her mouth. The closer she got, the more he remembered her, the more it hurt to watch him walk away.

She was unconscious by the time S.H.I.E.L.D. reached her. Funny - she'd forgotten she was still losing blood.

* * *

The Black Widow didn't wake screaming and thrashing from nightmares. She woke still and silent, senses on high alert for the slightest hint of danger, muscles taut for a fight.

As her eyes snapped open, the man sitting by her bedside in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical caught a single muttered word.

_"James..."_

The unprecedented lack of control frightening him more than anything else could, the man asked tensely, "Nat? You okay?"

"Clint," her voice was strong and her eyes clear, any distress or disorientation forgotten or, more likely, buried, and if the slightest hint of relief bled into her voice, well, that was just how much she trusted her best friend.

"Yep, that would be me. Should we check for a concussion? I thought you were in here for your gut, not your head."

"You're insufferable." Natasha didn't bother to hide the fondness in her tone.

"Ah, you love me anyway."

"Love is for children," she countered, but she was smiling. "How long was I out?"

"Around a day, I think? I just got back this morning."

"How was Croatia?"

"Boring."

"Swap you."

"No thanks."

The two laughed, and Natasha didn't put too much effort into pretending it didn't hurt.

"You should text Phil," she said, "Tell him I'm up. He's probably been in fits."

"Yeah, you're lucky you've been out," he responded, retrieving his phone to do just that," _I'm_ the one who's had to deal with him in worried-mode while you've been taking your little nap."

"Oh, poor baby," she teased.

"Seriously, though, what happened out there?"

The woman closed her eyes, taking a moment to feel a pain that had nothing to do with the hole in her side, and considered her response. There were so many things she could have said, so many ways to answer _just enough_ or brush off the question. But, this was _Clint._ He deserved more than that. Still, what could she say?

"It's...a really long story," she finally said, reopening her eyes to return his gaze.

A moment passed before he asked softly, gently, "'Tasha...Who's James?"

She cursed in Russian before saying, "I was hoping you hadn't heard that."

Her friend didn't answer, just looked at her steadily until she replied.

"He's the one who shot me," she said drily.

"And, of course, you're on first name basis with the guy who shot you, crazy Russian assassin. What, did he stop to chat afterward?"

"Actually..."

"You're not serious."

"I am."

Her seriousness did not, however, prevent her from laughing at Clint's gobsmacked expression.

"You are definitely explaining that later," he said, when they'd both regained control of themselves, "but, seriously. Who is this guy?"

And Natasha didn't know what to do with that; she really didn't. She had never before told _anyone_ about James. She wasn't sure she knew how.

But, this was _Clint._

Her decision made, she met his eyes and said, "Not here."

Her best friend glanced around the medical ward before returning her gaze. Seeing the weight in her eyes, he said, "Actually, come to think of it, there's something I want to show you first. We'll wait till you get out of here, yeah?"

"Sounds good."

* * *

"Where are we going?" Natasha asked Clint as he drove them through the countryside.

"You'll see," he said with a smile. He was practically vibrating with excitement and nervous energy, which would usually worry her, but this wasn't his troublemaking smile; it was somehow...softer.

Natasha wasn't sure what to expect as they neared the farmhouse, but she knew it was something big.

_Or something small,_ she reflected in a daze as the two of them got out of the car, and a blur streaked out the front door and across the yard, finding Clint with an armful of little boy squealing, "Daddy!"

He was followed more sedately by a noticeably pregnant woman, who made her way first to Natasha with a large smile on her face.

"You have _got_ to be Natasha," she said warmly, enveloping the Black Widow in a hug before pulling back to continue, "It's about time! I've heard so much about you."

"Um, hi," Natasha greeted, allowing the woman to see a hint of the awkwardness she felt.

"Oh no," the woman realized, "He didn't warn you, did he?"

Natasha shook her head.

"Well, then, it falls to me to be an _adult_ and introduce myself. I'm Laura Barton."

Natasha's eyes widened along with her grin, as she said, "Oh no. No way. _You're_ married to _him?"_

"Oh yes," Laura's smile turned wry.

_"Why?"_

"I've asked myself that every day since," she joked, and the redhead decided she liked this woman.

"Oh, ha-ha," Clint said flatly, "You two are hilarious. And you wonder why I haven't introduced you earlier."

"Oh, stop your grumbling, and get over here," Laura said, finally greeting her husband with a kiss.

"And this," the archer said when they separated, "is Cooper," leading the little boy over to Natasha.

"Say hi to your Auntie Nat," he continued, and the woman in question drew a sharp breath, her head snapping up to meet his eyes with her own glistening.

"Clint-"

"C'mon, 'Tasha, it's been how many years? You're like my crazy, scary, adopted sister," he grinned, but his eyes were serious.

"And you're the annoying, hyperactive, jerk-face brother I never wanted," she punched him in the arm, but then pulled him in for a fierce hug, and it was his turn to be surprised. The Black Widow didn't show much affection, and it was hardly ever so physical. He quickly returned the embrace, and then they parted, leaving Natasha to bond with her nephew while his parents did some catching up.

That night, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents found some time alone, and the Russian knew it was time to have that conversation. She opened her mouth to share that part of herself she never had before, then paused, realizing where she had to begin if it was going to make any semblance of sense.

"The first thing you should know is I wasn't born in 1984."

Clint blinked in surprise, but didn't say anything, only waited with the patience of a sniper. Natasha took a deep breath...

And it all came spilling out.

A half hour later, she trailed off, and the two friends stood in silence. It was Clint, of course, who broke it.

"So, you're telling me you're old enough to be my mom, and Captain America's dead best friend was your secret Soviet assassin boyfriend?"

And because she could, because she was _safe_ and _home_ and could afford to fall apart for perhaps the only time in her life, she answered with a laugh that felt like crying, edged with hysteria, and he held her until it passed.

When her next birthday rolled around - Clint had found some small way to commemorate it every year since she'd joined S.H.I.E.L.D., remembering the date from the file he'd been given when he'd been sent to eliminate her - he gave her a necklace, a simple affair ornamented only with a small arrow.

"As a reminder," he said, "that I might not be _him,_ but I'll _always_ have your back."

"I know," she said. And she did.


End file.
